


On the Intricacies of Android PDA, or Lack Thereof

by Jane_Lu



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Public Display of Affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 18:31:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17371121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jane_Lu/pseuds/Jane_Lu
Summary: For Hank Anderson, an average day at the DPD consisted of paperwork, going out for witness interviews, investigating homicides and dealing with nosy coworkers.He could not understand when “Rebuff the over-affectionate advances of a lovesick android partner” got added to the list.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [readitson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/readitson/gifts).



> This is my SS gift on the HankconBB 2019 Discord server for readitson that began as a thousand-word oneshot and ended up as a short multi-chaptered fic! Your prompt meant that I could cram in as many adorable Hankcon moments I could. Thank you for this opportunity to practice writing those two lovebirds, and I hope you enjoy reading!

For Hank Anderson, an average day at the DPD consisted of paperwork, going out for witness interviews, investigating homicides and dealing with nosy coworkers.

He could not understand when “Rebuff the over-affectionate advances of a lovesick android partner” got added to the list.

Hank ducked his head when he spotted Connor’s brown swept-back hair emerging around the corner of turnstile entrance. He also made sure to push his half-eaten jelly donut under some files. Fuck knows which one he preferred this point, Connor’s nagging about his diet or Connor’s fixation on physical contact in the workplace.

He did keep his vision trained on his partner though. Hank watched Connor greet Tina with a polite “Good morning”, nod silently at a scowling Gavin, wave in response to Chris’ warm “Hi Connor!” and give a polite half-bow to a passing Jeffrey. But as soon as he came to Hank’s desk, a bright smile broke on his face as if the sun itself had shown upon the office.

“Good morning, Hank!” Connor trilled, “I look forward to another day of working with you!” 

Hank inwardly cringed as Connor’s voice turned every head towards them. Here they go again, the rest of the office's attention now caught as way too many fucking people without something better to do waited for something to happen. How could his partner not know he treated Hank with special warmth compared to everyone else and everyone knew it? And that they were especially eager to see that happen as often as possible? Hank definitely felt as if he and Connor were on exhibition for someone else's entertainment.

“Get your witness reports into the database. I’m going to discuss the Arnolds case with Jeffrey.” Hank lied, standing up and grabbing the nearest folder on his desk.

But Connor had vanished from sight. Just as Hank was about to heave a relieved sigh and sit back down again, someone crashed into him from behind as a pair of arms wrapped tightly around his middle. 

“Goddammit Connor!” Hank exclaimed, “I’m trying to work here!”

He tried to pry the android’s iron grip loose, realizing that Tina, Gavin and Chris were definitely paying attention. If he acted quick enough, maybe he could pass it off as some sort of weird partner thing. Shouldn’t get any worse than this— 

Connor’s expectant face suddenly appeared above Hank’s right shoulder and, to Hank’s everlasting embarrassment, planted a quick kiss on his cheek.

Did Hank just spontaneously combust? It sure felt like it. His cheeks felt flaming hot and his stomach seemed to burn a hole through his abdomen. Hank wanted to snap back, to say anything to dismiss what just happened so that everyone would just stop staring. But instead his mouth opened and closed like a gaping fish and no words came out.

“Aw, look at that! Hank is Connor’s favorite person.” He heard Chris chuckle.

“He really is getting more human by the day.” Tina chimed in.

Gavin was much less pleasant, “Anderson's letting his pet computer play with feelings? What a joke.”

That comment unfroze Hank as annoyance overcame his embarrassment. Now this was more comfortable territory.

“Fuck off!” He flipped the bird at Gavin, “As for the rest of you, mind your own business.”

“Whatever you say, Hank.” Chris raised his hands defensively, “It’s good to see you back in good spirits though.”

Hank gave a noncommittal grunt and sat down heavily. At least Connor had the thought to release him right after that fiasco and slide back to his desk, where he was now interfacing directly with his terminal with a blank look on his face. Fucking androids, not having to deal with social convention and a lifetime of emotional fallout over some mischosen word. If only Hank had the same kind of nonchalance, he’ll probably have a much easier time at life in general.

Still, he was aware that months ago he would have been struggling with much more weighty issues. After the peaceful android revolution, the entire country was forced to rethink how to live with a new form of intelligent life, created by humans, no less. CyberLife had now fallen into a tricky position as a company, especially regarding Connor’s status as a prototype and thus, special company property. Hank had worked with Jeffrey to ward off CyberLife’s attempts to recall Connor. Expletives (mostly from Hank) were tossed around. Punches were almost thrown. Hearings were held. But in the end they had won the case with the official release of the Kamski Test (which thankfully no longer included the choice of shooting another android), and Connor was hired as a police detective on salary like any human.

Hank supposed that he would take public embarrassment over that chaotic shit any day.

He glanced over at Connor, who was now on the phone arranging another witness interview from sound of it. He had discarded his CyberLife-issued uniform, but the jacket he wore was largely in same style and color, along with a white shirt and black tie. The outfit seemed to add a refined elegance to his usual sharp appearance.

Connor's face had remained mostly the same, although there was a new softness to his features. He had picked up a few human quirks, lifting his brows, pursing his lips and flickering his eyes with the flow of conversation. When Connor finally realized Hank was looking at him, he met his gaze with a warm smile, his brown eyes filled with nothing but adoration.

Fuck. Hank felt his heart turn into mush, although he immediately quashed it with no small amount of guilt at his earlier embarrassment. In reality, he would literally do anything for this android, to make sure he had a bright future and a solid identity to hold onto even as Detroit changed faster than could be followed. To this extent, he wholeheartedly encouraged his partner to express his thoughts and newly-found emotions freely.

Then why was he so hung up over Connor doing nothing but expressing his affection for Hank?

Hank should really go back to work instead of drowning in thought again. He turned his attention back to the terminal, scooting his chair forwards so that he could flick through his current cases. Three of isolated android assault by humans, two android deactivations, and four of newly-deviated androids attacking humans. He had to confront belligerent humans in most of those cases, trying to make them see beyond their petty prejudices. Hank released a tired huff and pinched the bridge of his nose. In a way he did miss the days when homicide didn’t involve so much interspecies diplomacy. 

Something touched the hand that Hank placed on the desk. He jerked in surprise and snapped his head upwards to see who had done it, only to be met with the sight of Connor stretching his arm across their joined desks so that his hand could rest on Hank’s.

“Are you all right?” Connor asked.

“Yeah, just amazed at the stupidity of humans.” This time Hank felt strangely detached from the urge to withdraw his hand. He watched himself calmly allow his hand to remain in Connor’s grasp, in full view of anyone passing by.

“You shouldn’t forget that there are many humans currently working to make sure android assaults don’t happen as often.” Connor pointed out, “We’re just the ones who see the worst side of it.”

A part of Hank agreed with Connor and told himself to suck it up and stop complaining. The rest was hyper aware of the way Ben was looking at them with an amused grin, Jeffrey’s raised eyebrow, Henry's sigh of longing, and the words that seem to float around the periphery of his hearing.

“Do androids usually bond with human partners like that?”

“I kinda want a computer who likes to follow me around.”

“Can’t believe that Hank is fine with that affectionate stuff. Androids really bring out the best side of a person, eh?”

An indescribable ache cut into Hank's chest as he finally withdrew his hand to type into the terminal. He knew he should be more grateful that most of his co-workers welcomed Connor with open arms, but sometimes he can't help but feel that something's still missing, something that was lost in meaning between Connor's sincere display of affection and everything else.

Hank decided to leave his thoughts behind for the rest of the day as he threw himself in work with fervor. For all he knew, Connor could have learned his inappropriate behavior from no other person than Hank himself.


	2. Chapter 2

There are few things Connor loved more than the evenings spent at Hank’s house.

Curtains drawn at every window. The TV turned on and reporting the 6pm news as background noise. The hum of the thermostat. Sumo snuffling at his food with great enthusiasm. The kettle whistling as the water boiled. The clack of the knife against the wooden cutting board. Recipe instructions running across his vision as his hands worked ceaselessly to craft a rigatoni dish with mushrooms and spinach.

In hindsight, Connor was still figuring out how exactly preferences worked. Deviancy meant that he could now process and act outside his programming. It also meant that he could not determine the reasons behind much of his processes, like changing into comfortable lounge clothes even though it didn’t make much a difference, preferring the warmth of Hank’s bed than the couch, choosing to go into sleep mode along with Hank’s rest patterns even though he didn’t need it, and so much more.

Connor no longer understood as much as he did before, but he knew for sure that everything was in its exact place, and that there was no other time and place he would rather be.

As Connor brushed onion peels to one side and began to rinse the knife, his proximity sensors told him that Hank had gotten up from the couch and was currently approaching the kitchen.

“Dinner’s almost ready, Hank. I estimate it’ll take 12 more minutes.” He called without turning around.

Hank continued his advance until he was right behind Connor. Sure enough, he was soon enveloped in a snug back hug that sent thirium pump errors and servo mobility warnings skittering across his vision. Connor sighed and leaned back into Hank’s sturdy frame.

“How come I can’t get away with that back at the station?” He asked. 

“Because I don’t want an audience.” Hank’s voice was muffled against the back of his neck.

Connor suspected as much, and that’s why he made sure to keep it chaste and quick. The others at the station already knew that he was especially attached to Hank. According to his calculations, they were unlikely to have a lower opinion of his partner due to his display of human affection. In fact, it had quite the opposite effect.

“There are numerous health and social benefits to public displays of affection, such as decreasing cortisol levels in your brain, activating oxytocin bursts—”

Connor’s voice trailed off, and he found himself unable to continue the moment Hank started to lay gentle open-mouthed kisses on his exposed shoulder and neck. This was another symptom he could not understand, given that his CPU could process multiple threads at the same time and that he should have no problem with multitasking. But everything about Hank defied his software capabilities even before deviancy, which frustrated him at the beginning of their partnership, and now he welcomed with eagerness.

Hank worked his way up from Connor’s neck to his cheek, his breath warm and his beard leaving little tingles against his synthetic skin. Connor turned his head slightly to find Hank’s lips with his own in a lingering kiss that left him feeling breathless and giddy. He felt his thread of thought crumbling into nothing, so that now he wanted nothing more than to drop the topic and indulge himself with Hank’s company.

“The rigatoni will have to sit for 10 minutes,” Connor laid his hands on top of Hank’s at his waist, “I’ll join you at the couch.” 

Said couch was fast becoming the most used piece of furniture in the house. They often spent the rest of the evening snuggled together with Sumo snoring away at their feet. It was also Hank’s favorite spot to lavish Connor with attention, which is what he proceeded to do once they tumbled into the worn cushions.

Connor found himself lying on top of the other’s soft belly, his legs entangled with the other’s as Hank showered kisses on his forehead, his nose and his cheeks. He cupped the sides of Hank’s face and responded in turn, stopping only to fit his mouth to Hank’s. Their lips slid together languidly for a few seconds before Hank pressed his forehead against Connor’s, sighing with content

Connor took the opportunity to appreciate the Lieutenant’s proximity and the side of him he only ever showed in the privacy of his home. The lines in Hank’s face had noticeably become less furrowed, his usual dour countenance now a relaxed smile. When he settled for stroking Connor’s hair, his blue eyes were gentle and tender.

“You don’t know how much I appreciate having you around.” Hank murmured.

“I think I do.” Connor countered, “Judging from the 64 evenings in which you initiated physical contact and the 582 times you expressed this sentiment.”

Hank groaned, “This is why I’ll never win any argument against you. Fucking androids, keeping numbers of everything.”

Connor gave him an apologetic kiss before nuzzling his cheek affectionately. He could count the exact number of times when Hank said or did anything, but in reality he could not exactly describe the reactions in him. Two days ago when Connor was returning from the confinement cells after apprehending a perp, Ben Collins had asked him directly why he seemed to like Hank so much.

That was a question that Connor wouldn’t have been able to answer if he was still bound by programming. But even without those restrictions, he still found it tricky to find the appropriate words to satisfy Ben’s curiosity.

“Hank was integral to my journey towards self-realization,” Connor decided to be as direct as possible, “He asked me difficult questions and frequently challenged my decision-making process. But he also treated me as another human and communicated with me in an open manner.”

But there was so much more he didn’t say. As Connor allowed his fingers to bury into Hank’s disheveled gray hair and scratch gently, he organized them the best he could.

He could spend hours in conversation with Hank, never tiring of the way his processor whirled and calculated dialogue options to catch up with the other's sharp mind.

He always learned something new from Hank, whether it be something about human behavior or perspectives.

He very much preferred physical intimacy with Hank ever since they reunited at Chicken Feed after Markus’ revolution, he not knowing how to express the sheer relief and joy that ran through him until Hank pulled him in a full embrace. 

He would very much like to see Hank happy and content for the rest of his life, because when Hank was happy, Connor felt all was right in the world, like when he just solved a case successfully.

Connor turned back to Hank in the present, who was now in a half-asleep daze from the head scratches, and felt something well up in his thirium pump. He wanted this to last forever, the quiet evenings at the house, the fond kisses and hugs, the affection Hank had for him. Once an investigative prototype with the sole mission of hunting deviants, Connor could have never lived through any of this if anything had happened differently. And now out of the millions of possibilities, he somehow ended with the one where his partner became the most important person in his admittedly-short life.

He pressed a light kiss to Hank’s nose, “You really should allow me to express my appreciation more when we’re around others.”

“Fuck, I’m not in the mood to discuss that. Just keep the sappy stuff out of the station.” Hank groaned.

“Are you ashamed of my behavior, Lieutenant?” Connor can’t help but tease.

“What? No, no no!” Hank was fully awake now, “It’s just… just… ugh, I swear I’m not embarrassed.”

Connor knew that Hank was not entirely honest from his flustered denial, and it sent an unpleasant jolt through his systems, as if someone had suddenly poured cold water over his head. He mostly initiated affectionate touch to help the Lieutenant destress at work environment, considering his increased workload. Despite Hank’s repeated denials, his cortisol levels always lowered by 13% whenever Connor gave him kisses or hugs, and as long this was effective, he would continue to do so. Hank also deserved all of the affection he could give.

Then why the unpleasant feeling? He could enjoy all of Hank’s eager attention in privacy. It shouldn’t matter whether where he did so. His processor calculated a whole list of explanations, but none could dispel the part of him that remained disturbed at the fact that Hank was uncomfortable with his touch in public.

Deviancy meant that Connor no longer understood everything about himself, but sometimes he wished that it wasn’t so. It was disorienting that part of him operated beyond his processing logic, and Connor didn’t know what he should do with it.

For now he shoved all this to a lower level of precedence. Perhaps Hank had other considerations of his own; he was likely trying to process something he had yet to understand. Though Connor thought maybe he could press the other to reveal so that they could work out a solution together, he should trust that Hank had his reasons. He should respect Hank's choices, nothing more.

The timer in his vision reached zero, and Connor extricated himself from Hank to head back to the kitchen.


	3. Chapter 3

The chaos of a successful police takedown whirled around Hank, walky-talkies squawking sporadic words, Gavin and Chris pushing the cuffed suspect towards the patrol car, others heading into the warehouse to sweep the area, ambulance lights flashing, EMT personnel wheeling two injured officers away. Rain poured from the darkened gray skies, creating a dull roar of water against metal sheeting and a hazy mist that obscured much of the scene.

Hank hardly noticed the flurry of activity and his drenched clothes, or the fact that his arm was still aching from the particularly hard fall Connor had pushed him into when the suspect started shooting. All he could concentrate on was supporting most of his partner’s weight to keep his injured left foot off the ground as they limped towards Hank’s cruiser.

“Hank, I'm completely fine. The bullet missed my biocomponents, so the damage is mostly superficial.” Connor protested, although there was a strain to his voice that Hank knew to be genuine distress, coupled with his LED cycling red rapidly.

“Stop trying to pretend you’re fine!” Hank snapped, “You could barely walk outside!”

“Of course I can. I’ll prove it to you.”

Before Hank could stop him, Connor released his hold and took a step forward with his injured foot. He promptly collapsed onto his knees the next second, barely managing to catch himself with his elbow.

The fuck he was fine! Hank swore again, the growing turmoil of shock and adrenaline threatening to overwhelm any composure he left. He dropped next to Connor, his arms going around his partner to push him into a sitting position. Then with one hand on the other’s back and the other supporting the back of his knees, Hank hoisted Connor up into his arms.

“Hank! This is unnecessary! I can—”

“Shut the fuck up and let me get you to the car!”

His own voice sounded too shrill and tremulous to be his own and seemed to carry across the milling bustle further than it should. Gavin glanced up with a scowl and began to stride over with purpose.

“Hey! Where d’you think you’re going? We need all personnel for crime scene preservation!”

“My partner is wounded!” Hank spat back, “Fuck preservation. That can wait after I get Connor stabilized.”

“I’m not letting you push all the work on me again! Is the plastic even in critical conditional?!” Gavin protested.

“I am not,” Connor piped up, “The servo motors in my left leg have been damaged and I have lost 14% of my thirium reserves. A replacement and a top-up should have me good as new.”

“You shut up. And you, Gavin, are a fucking asshole if that’s how you treat your partners. I’m gonna get Connor fixed up, and none of you have a say about it!” With that, Hank lost what little remained of his patience in explaining himself and resumed his walk towards his car.

Now that he was further away from the post-takedown mayhem, Hank's racing heartbeat began to slow and his hands stopped shaking as hard. He knew this was not the first time Connor was injured in action, and that Connor always preconstructed scenarios that kept casualties to a minimum. He knew that Connor was fine and in better condition than any human cop who would be shot at. He knew that injury was part of the job, and that Connor had already done his best in keeping them both unhurt.

But Hank could not ever get used seeing Connor wounded in any way. All he could do now was to focus on keeping a secure grip on Connor’s body and the closing distance towards his destination, step by laborious step.

A hand touched his shoulder softly, “Lieutenant, I appreciate your concern. I calculated all possibilities when the suspect started shooting, and the best outcome must involve my injury. The takedown could not have ended better.”

“And that’s enough of today for you. I’m taking you home right after repairs.” Hank said gruffly.

Connor fell silent, leaned his head against Hank’s chest and closed his eyes. Rivulets of rain streamed down the planes of his face and through his soaked hair. Hank hoped he at least had something to dry his partner off with in the car, if not some spare dry clothes.

When Hank reached his vehicle and shifted Connor in his arms to reach the door handle, the android suddenly spoke,

“A fireman’s carry would have been easier on your back.”

“Says the guy with the bullet wound,” Hank scolded as he placed the other gently in the passenger seat, “Priorities, Connor.”

“Your wellbeing is my priority.” Connor’s expression was serene, “It always will be. But I’ll make a small exception just this once. I like it when you hold me like that.”

Hank welcomed the surge of fondness for his hopelessly sappy partner. It momentarily quashed his panic long enough for him to drive to a nearby CyberLife store, which now acted more as android repair centers and employment agencies, and hand Connor over to the engineers. The procedure took less than twenty minutes; when Hank saw Connor again, he was back on both feet and apart from a torn pant leg and wet clothes, looked no worse for the wear.

Hank then released a deep breath that he hadn’t realized he had been holding. He was definitely ready to call it a day, had not Jeffrey sent a message demanding his and Connor's presence back at the station. It took an angry shouting match on the phone and Connor cajoling him with perhaps the full capability of his negotiation skills for Hank to drive back.

“Jeffrey wouldn't have been so fucking demanding if I were shot instead.” Hank grumbled as he fluffed Connor's hair dry with a large towel in the locker room. Both of them had already changed into the spare clothes they kept at the station.

“You are human, Hank.” Connor leaned into his touch, which Hank responded by stroking his hair, “Unfortunately your biology does not allow for instant repairs. It is appropriate of the captain to give time for human personnel to recuperate and to ask androids to return to work.”

“Well if we’re gonna start treating androids as humans, there’s no better place to start. That includes you too. You’ve got the same rights as any police detective.”

“Perhaps a little more than the average police detective today.” Connor added.

Fuck. Hank thought that his partner wouldn’t pick it up so easily. He couldn’t help it, especially after the shock of seeing Connor crumple to the ground, blue blood spraying from his injured leg. He finally allowed himself to fold Connor into his arms, burying his face into the other’s clean-smelling shirt.

“Ben and Tina are watching from the door,” Connor whispered.

Hank only tightened his hold and harrumphed dismissively. He needed this at the moment, the feeling of Connor’s somewhat rigid but comfortingly warm frame pressing against his own. Or perhaps it was more of a desire to give this android all the good things he deserved that this world was yet to be willing to give. If it were up to Hank, Connor would get the rest of the day off with the rest of the DPD acknowledging his courage, along with awarding him perhaps his 15th Medal for Valor.

For now Hank settled for the next best thing as he willingly took on a portion of Connor's paperwork, retrieved items from the evidence room for him, met with Jeffrey alone and took notes for Connor and managed to negotiate an early ending shift for him. When he finally made his way back to his desk, Hank stopped at his partner’s seat and dropped a kiss on Connor’s forehead. Connor gave a surprised squeak before he pushed his lips against Hank’s cheek in reciprocation.

“Hey Hank! Got a minute?” Ben suddenly called from across the station.

“Depends.” Hank straightened up with some reluctance, “If this is about your fucking troll doll collection, I’m taking my minute back.”

“What? No! I just have a question for you. But you really should learn to appreciate those little buggers…”

Hank sighed, figuring that he might as well get it over with. Unlike some people in the DPD, Ben was actually a decent person to get along with. He gave Connor’s shoulder a final pat and headed over to Ben’s desk.

“Is Connor doing alright? A wound like that on you and me probably would’ve put us in the hospital for a week.”

Surprise jolted through Hank at one of the few instances that someone inquired after his partner’s wellbeing, although knowing Ben, this wasn’t the actual question he wanted to ask. Nevertheless his mood lifted marginally, and he allowed himself to vent a little.

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Hank sank into the chair in front of Ben, “But he’ll be better if Jeffrey actually gave him a break. Sure he’s up and going, but who’s to say that androids don’t experience shock of some sort?”

“I wish I could pop back from an injury like androids do,” Ben said, “But you’re real lucky to have Connor watching your back.”

Hank narrowed his eyes. Now he’s sure there was definitely a main point that Ben was trying to get to as late as possible, “Alright, what are you trying to say?”

“Connor’s not just an android to you, isn’t he?” Ben regarded him with a solemn look, I’ve never seen you this committed to another… person, not since…”

Ben trailed off, glancing at Hank with a cautious air, before rushing through his next words.

“Who is Connor to you really?”

Did Hank’s disturbance show as a scowl on his face? Because the other immediately windmilled his arms in panic and blurted, “I’m not trying to offend you! If anything, I’m glad to see you getting back onto your feet after all these years”. Hank only waved dismissively and allowed himself to slump further down into the chair. He couldn’t answer that the question, not when he was beginning to understand what exactly had been bothering him all this time. The implications of his discovery seemed to drop a heavy stone in the pit of his gut. Hank snuck a glance at Connor again, who was currently discussing something with Jeffrey with an animated air.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed inwardly. This better be him and his fucking overthinking tendencies kicking into gear, or this mess of a day just got an upgrade to include him stewing in agitated anxiety on how he should handle this.


	4. Chapter 4

Detroit in early February was still rather chilly, about 35 degrees at its warmest even at noon. Three inches of unmelted snow coated the roofs of every house on Michigan Drive, and the road itself had transformed into a wet slushy river that Hank always cursed at when he pulled his car out on the drive. But the air outside at 09:34AM was crisp and clear, if not somewhat cutting in its chilliness as it gusted through the living room window Connor just opened.

“Fuck, we’re not all androids here.” Hank’s hoarse voice complained from the other side, “It’s freezing outside. Do you have to do that?”

“The house is starting to smell a bit stuffy, Hank. I’ll get you something to wear.” Connor moved to throw open the back door and the kitchen windows as well. Sumo came padding over from his food bowl, intrigued at what was going on without his knowledge. Connor gave the St. Bernard a good scratch behind his ears before heading to their bedroom to retrieve a fleece jacket and a pair of fuzzy socks.

He found Hank kneeling by the bookshelf surrounded by paperback books and dusty boxes, digging through the contents of one with determination. Hank had expressed a rare desire to clean out his old belongings on their day off after rebuffing Connor’s attempts to do so multiple times. That he understood, since Connor had no idea what items should be discarded.

What he didn’t understand was Hank’s approach to displays of affection, especially now that he knew that Hank had no problems with that at the station. At first Connor didn’t think too much about his partner’s different behavior after the shootout. But when Hank regressed back to his taciturn responses to his approaches, he knew that there was something more to it. He wanted to know what it was, and wished that he could analyze and reconstruct his way to an answer.

But for now he could leave all this behind. At least Connor could always trust Hank to be openly affectionate at home. He joined Hank on the floor, handed over the jacket and proceeded to curl against Hank’s legs and rest his head in his lap.

“Thanks, Connor.” The other’s large hand moved to stroke his hair, “But it looks like Sumo wanted that spot too. Can’t believe I’m that popular among androids and dogs.”

Connor looked towards the kitchen and sure enough, Sumo was regarding him with a pitiful look, “He can join if he wants. There’s plenty of room.”

“What am I, the cuddle pillow of this household?”

“Yes, a very good one too.” Connor confirmed.

“If I can’t get any work done, it’s on you."

Hank continued to rummage through the boxes, unpacking some of the contents to lay out on the floor. Connor allowed himself to drift, so that all he could perceive were the minute movements of Hank’s body and the soft material of the other’s flannel pajama pants against his cheek. Occasionally he looked to see what Hank had uncovered. So far there was a pile of CD’s, a bundle of T-shirts with “Michigan State University” emblazoned on the front, loose papers that had parts of an literary analysis of Dubliners by James Joyce printed, and a stack of large books with pages covered by plastic sheets, which Connor determined to be photo albums.

He was definitely interested in those, since printed photos had all but vanished in past twenty years and he had never seen more pictures of Hank when he was younger. Connor reached for the topmost album just as Hank turned to the other side to examine another box. The first page he opened showed four 4 x 6 photographs, each depicting a building of the MSU East Lansing campus. He flipped through to find more landscape photos, until he came to one that showed a tall blond-haired young man a bit on the scrawny side posing with a woman with short brown hair and a warm welcoming face. Closer analysis of the man’s cheekbone structure and eye shape confirmed his identity as Hank Anderson at around 21 years old.

Connor felt something stir in him as he continued to browse. There were pictures of Hank with two other students, his arms thrown on their shoulders. More landscape shots of downtown East Lansing. Hank in a suit with a smile as he lifted a trophy along with members of the MSU debate team, Hank with the woman again, this time holding hands in front of a coffee shop, Hank more radiant and carefree than Connor could have imagined, though he still retained his older self’s air of reservedness.

He looked at the photos again, particularly of the ones of Hank with company. He noted his easy comfort with touch; most shots depicted him either offering an arm or a hand to another person, or with others who gladly embraced him. Connor found himself tracing the lines of their touching bodies as his processes began to spiral into a series of unbidden thoughts. Even in youth, Hank was warm and affable behind a somewhat guarded exterior and treated his few acquaintances with honesty, open to affectionate gestures and easy to express them. 

Then why was Hank so hung up over him alone? Why couldn’t he show the same kind of direct attachment in front of others?

Connor found himself preconstructing scenes where he and Hank walked together on the streets, hands clasped together, Hank giving him a chaste kiss after Connor got him his coffee at the station, he and Hank sharing an umbrella in a sudden downpour, Hank not doing any of these things, Hank’s face twisted in acute mortification.

A large stone seemed to lodge in his being, crushing his attempts to defend Hank’s behavior and to dismiss the thought altogether.

“What are you looking at?” Hank turned back to ask, "Fuck, you unearthed my awkward college photos. I was going to toss those, but I guess I’m too sentimental for that.”

“Who are those people?” Connor sat up and handed over the album.

“Those are my hallmates, though I was never really that close to them after I moved out,” Hank pointed at the photos one by one, “And these folks were part of the debate team, had to take a shit ton of photos with them… And that’s… huh, I think she’s just this girl who really wanted to make a move on me. I kinda just went along because I wanted to know what’s it like, but we never really got serious.”

“And yet you would engage in physical contact with them in front of a camera, for the public eye to see.”

Those words were out before Connor could understand why. His processor cycled rapidly in protest; nothing about his response was logical or beneficial to the conversation. But he couldn’t hold them in any longer.

Hank stiffened in response, his eyes widening as he seemed to realize what was implied. He promptly set down the album and shook his head furiously, “Fuck, fuck! You know that you mean more to me than these people. I just… I…”

“Then what am I to you, Hank?” Connor tried, he really did, to stop himself from saying anything that would put Hank in an uncomfortable spot, and failed spectacularly, “If you were that ashamed of my presence around other company, you should have told me earlier. I would have left you alone.”

“Connor—” Hank reached for him, distress clear in his face, but Connor was already turning away. He couldn’t look at Hank. He already wanted to take those words back.

He stood up and left the living room, his thoughts at war with each other as he entered the bedroom and shut the door. All logical thought indicated that none of his behavior made sense. Hank would never be ashamed of him; his actions in crucial situations showed that he was very much committed to Connor’s wellbeing, which he did cherish and reciprocate. Hank had given him so much even when he didn’t have to, and a large part of why he could even be here today free from CyberLife’s influence, with a position at the DPD, and living in Hank’s house was because of his partner’s efforts.

Then why was Connor so bothered by such a trivial topic? It took up so little significance in the grand scheme of things. Physical contact had been new to him as well, and already he was attaching an illogical amount of value to it. This was wrong. This was unfair to Hank. He had no right to say such words. Hank didn’t deserve them, not when he was finally recovering from Cole’s death and learning to move on. Then why couldn’t he stop himself, as if his thoughts had nothing to do with what he really wanted to express?

Connor paced around the bed, his hands moving with the restless swirl of thoughts to straighten out the blankets, fold the clothes Hank had tossed onto the chair and open the windows. He often found that by engaging himself with new objectives, it helped to reorient his processes. Another new feature brought about by deviancy. Connor still didn’t entirely understand its level of influence over his behavior. Did deviancy cause him to lash out? Was deviancy the reason why his processes no longer matched his behavior, that pushed him to blatantly disregard Hank’s kindness and generosity to fixate on an inane desire for Hank to show him affection in public?

He sank to his knees beside the closet, now both his processor and the strange new illogical part of him pushing him to take action and talk to Hank, except he didn't know how he should reconcile to the possible outcomes. What could he say? What should he do if Hank didn’t—

The bedroom door echoed with a tentative knock before Hank pushed his head in, guilt clear in his eyes. Connor went to him immediately, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist and burying his face in his shoulder. He was sorry. He never meant to upset Hank. He appreciated everything Hank had done for him. He should have respected Hank’s decision instead of insisting on his own preferences.

“I’m not upset at you, Connor. It’s alright to express what you truly feel. That’s a part of being a thinking being,” Hank sighed, “I think it’s about time I got off my ass too and communicate my thoughts as well. How about we go outside for a walk with Sumo? A change of scene might do us both good.”

His words faltered with the sudden tightness that seized his chest, "I... I don't know if I could tell you how I truly feel. It's overwhelming… that sometimes I can't explain all of my actions."

"You and me both. But allowing all that shit to pile up isn't a solution either. Let’s talk it out. I promise you’ll feel better afterwards.” Hank patted his back and gave him a warm cheek kiss.

Connor allowed himself to melt into the other’s embrace, clutching at Hank tightly. What remained of his logical processes told him that Hank’s forgiveness came easy and unprompted on his part. He should express his appreciation and follow through with Hank’s suggestion agreeably. It took only nanoseconds for Connor to calculate exactly what he needed to do to make amends, though nothing in his processor could help him know what he should do with himself.

But Hank told him it was alright to express his feelings. His partner’s advice seemed to click into the right place more than anything else so far. Connor closed his eyes, his disordered thoughts settling down in Hank’s supportive presence.


	5. Chapter 5

Hank could see his breath as an airy puff of mist as he exited his car. He slammed the door shut with a bang that echoed across Detroit Riverwalk. In one hand he held Sumo’s leash, which he had to wrap multiple times around his arm to keep the 170 pound dog from bolting. Connor got out from the other side, his face unreadable, LED concealed by a flat cap and clad in a long dark blue overcoat.

Fuck. Hank really messed up this time. Damn him and his tendency to overthink and shy away from ever sharing his thoughts after isolating himself for years. Connor still needed someone to guide him on how to function as a living being, but Hank could barely do so on many occasions. He only hoped that he could still remember how to navigate being communicative in a relationship again. He had to make this right. Connor deserved that much.

Hank extended a hand to Connor, who looked at him quizzically.

“C’mon, give me your hand.” Hank said, as he tugged on the leash with his other, “Before Sumo starts dragging me off.”

“But aren’t you—” Connor began to object, but Hank promptly reached over, grabbed the android’s right hand, and began to walk forward. Although it had warmed slightly compared to morning, the weather was still cold and dreary enough to keep the Riverwalk mostly empty apart from the occasional jogger or dog walker. The sky was a patchy gray against the bundle of gleaming towers that was the Renaissance Center, with the river itself stretching forward as far as Hank could see on his left. 

“Your skin temperature indicates that you are not adequately insulated,” Connor’s hand squeezed his, “I’m increasing my body heat.”

Sure enough, his fingers began to feel less like sticks of ice. Hank felt his chest constrict even as he began walking faster to keep with Sumo’s eager bounds. Connor was always so quick to concern, so intent on seeing the best in others and jumping into action when he thought it would benefit another. Untouched by the long years of human growth, Connor was unable to see, or be personally affected by, the reactions of others. He always acted to his own interests, particularly in showing his attachments, something that Hank wasn't sure he could ever do as well. Hank was always aware of this fundamental difference between them, but he would not have it any other way.

Except from the side, especially now with the flat cap on, Connor looked like any normal human. Hank grit his teeth, released his hold to reach up and snatch it away, revealing Connor's LED circle spinning yellow.

"Hank! What are you doing?!" Connor tried to reclaim the hat, but Hank stuffed it in his other coat pocket.

"Don't hide who you are, Connor," His voice seemed to crack with the intensity of his disapproval, "I would never be ashamed of you, and it's my fucking fault that I gave that impression."

Connor looked away, "I know that, Hank. My words were spoken carelessly. I had no right to force you to go along with my preferences."

“No, you had every right to call me out on my bullshit.” Hank retorted, “I shouldn't have given a flying fuck on what the others at the station think about us.”

Though doing so was more difficult than he ever imagined. It was all harmless curiosity, in all honesty; Tina’s eagerness to make small talk with Connor, Chris’ tendency to gush at Connor’s attachment to Hank, Jeffrey quizzing Connor on police procedures, even Gavin’s blatant disgust. But it was nothing but trivial curiosity in Connor's behavior as a deviant android, the morbid fascination to see how Connor, formerly a machine with a task, shower Hank with human-like affection, and later Ben’s disbelieving bewilderment when he realized that Hank took Connor seriously. None of them did.

Connor’s blank expression slowly morphed into expectant interest, which Hank watched with awe. Every part of him, from his slightly tousled hair, expressive brown eyes, to his lips showed a living being capable of thought and emotion, who didn’t deserve having his existence trivialized. Hank wished everyone could know about the way Connor’s entire face lit up when they reunited after the CyberLife Tower incident, the way his jaw set in determination when he gave up on pursuing a deviant to pull Hank to safety, and the way his eyes filled with ardent curiosity at every new thing that interested him.

Hank placed one hand on the other’s shoulder and sighed, “You deserve so much more than this society could currently offer. You’re not some fancy new office equipment for the others to gawk at, and our relationship is too precious to me to serve as a show for other people’s entertainment.”

“That’s why you’ve been unenthusiastic about PDA,” Connor said quietly, “You didn’t want the others… to belittle the bond we share.”

“Yep, that sounds a lot dumber outside my own head,” Hank groaned. Fuck, hearing it from Connor confirmed that Hank had been thinking too much, to the point that it was all he became preoccupied with. "I’m sorry, Connor. I left you behind when I should’ve been more open with you. I just… I just… wished I could do more to help you have an easier time living with other humans—” 

The rest of his sentence disappeared in a startled swear when something yanked hard on his other arm. Hank hadn’t realized he had stopped walking, and now Sumo decided to dash forward with an excited woof. The leash flew out of his grasp as he staggered, and he would have fallen on his side if not for Connor seizing his upper arm and pushing his palm against Hank’s chest to steady him.

This gesture brought their faces mere inches from each other, so that all Hank could see were Connor’s sincere brown eyes and every freckle that dusted his cheeks. All anxious thought vanished from him as Hank closed the distance between them and kissed Connor with all the ardor he could muster. Fuck, he really missed this, losing himself in every emotion he felt for his extraordinary partner who defied every obstacle to become a living being and somehow made his way straight into his heart. Connor, always present when Hank needed him, who stayed by his side when he could have literally done anything else for himself, who always managed to bring Hank joy in everything he did. Hank couldn’t believe that he ever lost sight of all this to obsess solely over how others treated his partner.

When Hank pulled away, Connor’s face was noticeably flushed, his lips half-parted and his expression wanting. His hand trembled in Hank’s grasp.

“Hank… you… we’re in a public space…”

“And the station isn’t? God, Connor, I thought I was the bashful one.”

“But I never kissed you like that!” Connor protested, “This isn’t fair.”

Mirth rushed through Hank as he pulled a mock scowl, “Is that a challenge? Because if it is, I’ll probably out-compete you in mushy displays of love so much that Jeffrey will ban us from ever working on cases together.”

“Hank!” Connor chided, hitting him in the shoulder lightly. Hank laughed and dropped another kiss between his furrowed brows, to which Connor responded by moving to thread his hand through Hank’s elbow so that they were linking arms. In return, Hank intertwined his fingers with Connor’s. He began to walk again, this time with the other pressed closely against his body and feeling a lot better than he had in weeks. This is how things should be, the two of them enjoying each other’s company regardless of what others thought, here on a quiet walk along Detroit River. Eventually Sumo, who had been running around in circles around the area, came springing back, and Hank reclaimed the leash after bribing the St. Bernard with a biscuit.

“You see many things I cannot.” Connor suddenly spoke, his voice sounding wistful.

“What do you mean?” 

“I never considered that possibility when I tried to figure out why you wouldn’t touch me. It goes to show how much I still need to learn about being alive. I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything. It’s just… something reacted in me when I thought… that maybe we can’t overcome our differences after all.”

“Fuck, now you’re learning my bad habits of overthinking stuff,” Hank grumbled. 

Connor looked at him with confusion, “Was I? Sometimes I can’t tell if I’m processing an objective thought or something else entirely."

Hank sighed and shook his head. Though Connor embraced deviancy with delight, he frequently struggled in taking his new emotions into account, often dismissing them as unimportant to the actions he should take. Hank was no fucking position to call him out on that. He himself barely learned to be a more functional human, and only with Connor’s influence, no less.

"Welcome to the ‘human emotion makes no fucking sense’ club,” Hank said, "Deviancy is still overwhelming, isn’t it? But there’s no easy fix. I can’t imagine what’s it like to be hit with those thoughts and feelings for the first time as an android. Sadly, being a sentient being doesn’t get easier with time, but it does help to speak your thoughts.”

Connor suddenly stopped in his tracks, forcing Hank to halt as well. His hand squeezed Hank’s as he closed his eyes, a contemplative look crossing his features, “Speaking my thoughts… if I should do so… then I was hoping that you would be more affectionate with me in public, even at the station. I touch you because every time I look at you, I am grateful that I could ever have the chance to be with you. I want everyone else to know what a wonderful person you are, and that I cherish your company more than anything.”

Fucking hell, Connor must have known that Hank had absolutely no defense against such words. Corny they may be, and sappier than any Hallmark movie dialogue, Hank instantly gave in, any remaining misgivings melting away in the rush of warmth that swept over him. He leaned in, resting his forehead against Connor’s.

“That was a low blow, you sentimental sap.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.” Connor whispered back, every syllable hushed with reverence.

This time when Hank joined their mouths together, Connor responded with enthusiasm, his hands reaching up to bury in his hair. Hank pushed into the kiss, yielding himself in the sensations of the other’s nose brushing against his, the close press of his body, the gentle grasp of his fingertips, and the way Connor eagerly clung to him as their lips met again and again. 

“Hank…” His name fell in gasps from Connor like a yearning prayer, “Oh Hank, I…”

Hank swallowed his supplications with delight, murmuring endearments in return that had Connor melting in his arms. He no longer had anything left to agonize over. There was only Connor's adoring attention, Connor's heartfelt confessions, and Connor's attachment to him that Hank did nothing to deserve, but would not fucking trade for anything else for the rest of his life.

“I love you so much.” The words left Hank in a rush. He immediately felt Connor’s sharp intake of air as the other stiffened in surprise. Hank was taken aback as well; he always had trouble admitting his feelings so openly.

“Can you say that again?” Connor kissed the corner of his mouth, his eyes meeting Hank’s pleadingly.

Hank couldn’t refuse now, especially when he knew that this was the least he can do. He cupped the other’s chin with one hand and lowered his mouth next to Connor’s ear, “You heard me, you romantic sap. I love you for who you are, even with every difference that may come between us."

Connor sighed, his expression becoming dreamy, “Who's the romantic sap now? But you should say that more often too.”

"One thing at a time, you demanding little shit. I'm still trying to figure out what kind of PDA we could get away with."

“Anything that incurs Detective Reed’s disgust is fair game.” Connor’s smile took on a devious air.

Fuck, Hank was really a bad influence on this android who just learned what feelings are, and apparently the worst dog walker around as he struggled to hold the leash, Sumo having grown tired of them stopping and now straining to get away again. Connor bent down and beckoned the dog over, who woofed excitedly and rolled over to expose his belly. Hank joined in the hearty petting session, his fingers engulfed in Sumo’s messy fur, Connor’s hands moving to intertwine with his, Connor’s laughter bright and carefree, Sumo’s back legs wriggling in bliss, an elated grin stealing across Hank’s lips, his heart filled to bursting with love for this little family, for Connor, who he wanted to heap as much affection on as possible.

Which Hank would be proud to show off from now on, public opinion be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The next day at DPD central station)  
> Connor: Good morning, Hank!  
> Connor: (Climbs into Hank's lap and wraps both arms around him)  
> Hank: Connor what the fuck. This is beyond PDA—  
> Gavin: Gross. Get a fucking room, you two.  
> Hank: ............  
> Hank: (Grabs Connor by the back of his neck and kisses him full on the mouth)


End file.
